


Bat'Lethbian

by Reyka_Sivao



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Fortunes of War duology, Star Trek - Various Authors
Genre: Alcohol, But Piper is definitely very bi, Excuse Plot, F/F, F/M, Gen, I have no idea what I'm doing, Interspecies Flirting, Multi, Other, Piper and co are novelverse!canon, and now I kinda low-key absolutely want to polyship this whole team, bisexual flirting, crackfic, femmeslash flirting, how does the flirt work, lesbian klingon, this is basically a bundle of plot holes, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyka_Sivao/pseuds/Reyka_Sivao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know that trope where the hero seduces the villain's daughter to get free?  That, with a female MC.  And Klingons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bat'Lethbian

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @GulJerry for that amazing pun. <3

It was a dark and stormy night.

Actually, it was more like midafternoon. And it wasn't raining. Actually, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, so it wasn't dark, either.

It was a sunny midafternoon and everything had just gone to hell.

 "There. Were not. Supposed to be. _Klingons_ on this _planet_ ," I said to Merete, who was currently hiding beside me, punctuating my words with blasts of phaser fire.

Merete just made that sort of sideways half-nod she did when there wasn't much point to saying anything.  Unfortunately, SHE didn’t have a phaser on her, and I was sincerely hoping that her medkit wouldn’t end up coming in handy.

“Piper!”

I ducked instinctively at Merete’s warning, narrowly missing being hit by a bolt of disruptor fire, and then aimed a shot in the direction she pointed and nodded my thanks.

“Where’s Scanner?” she asked after risking another peek out of our hiding place.

I aimed three more bolts of phaser fire—set to stun, if for no other reason than there were still civilians around—before answering.  “With Sarda.”  They were both just out of view, but at least one of them was also spitting out orange bolts of phaser fire.  One, I was guessing, based on the frequency of firing, and I was sincerely hoping that that meant that the other one was busy whipping up a deus ex machina out of a broken tricorder and an old toothbrush.

Dammit, I needed info.  Such as, number one, why there were Klingons here and what they wanted and how to beat them.  And number four…  
  
“How many are there?” I asked Merete.  It was a pretty minimal tactical bit of information, but it would be something. 

Merete stuck her head up, eyes darting around, and then immediately pulled it back down about a centimeter below a disrupter blast.  “I got to three,” she said, less than helpfully.  “But I can also tell you they’re definitely using stun.”  
  
Well, that was something.

“Wait, I can do better,” said Merete, scrambling in her medkit.

“Gonna bandage them to death?” I said sourly.

“I suppose I could try that,” said Merete, “but I thought I might start by diagnosing them.”  She pulled something out and tapped it.  “And I can diagnose them as eight Klingons—seven male and one female, if you were wondering—as well as one human and one Vulcan behind that vendor’s cart.”

I risked a glance over and realized that Merete was holding a medical scanner.  “Merete, I could kiss you.”

She tapped the screen again.  “Not in front of the Klingons, perhaps,” she said, without looking up but with a hint of a smile.

I glanced back at what I was supposed to be looking at, and abruptly realized that in my moment’s inattention, the disrupter fire had stopped. 

“Attention, humans!” came a gruff sounding Klingon voice.  “Cease this dishonorable hiding and face us like warriors!” 

I popped up from hiding before my better judgment could stop me.  “Only half of us are even human!” I spat, before realizing that that might not actually be the priority here.  If we weren’t careful here, they weren’t exactly unlikely to discover firsthand that Sarda bled green and Merete, purple.

But what I saw wasn’t exactly what I expected.  Not that I was sure _what_ I expected, but even so.

The Klingon who had spoken was short and stocky and looked like he could punch down a bridge with an inch backswing.  He turned to the Klingon standing next to him.  “See, dear, I told you that not all Earthers are cowards.”

My brain took a left turn into _huh?,_ but what came out of my mouth was “I’m from _Proxima._ ”

“Also,” said the first Klingon, putting one hand behind his back and holding up one finger on the other and looking for all the world like an overly serious kindergarten teacher, “Not all Earthers are Earthers.”

“But, father…” said the second Klingon—to appearances, the one female that Merete’s scanners had picked up—before trailing off like she didn’t have any better idea what was going on than I did.

The first Klingon laughed, jarringly jovially, and made a broad, sweeping, utterly incomprehensible gesture.  “And that is why you are here!  To observe firsthand the ways of our most honorable enemies.”

That was right about the point that Scanner popped up.

“As the only actual resident Earther in attendance,” he drawled, playing up the Tennessee voice he favored, “I feel like I should be in on this.”  He crossed his arms and leaded against the vendor’s cart he’d been hiding behind in an elaborate show of relaxation that reminded me of a cat’s slow blink when it knows it could attack you at a moment’s notice. 

Behind him, Sarda also stood and moved forward, a step behind and to the right, in textbook “backup” mode.  His phaser was holstered, but right where Vulcan reflexes could get at it in half a human’s blink.  I wasn’t sure how a Klingon blink rated, but hopefully not much faster.

I threw half a glance at Merete, and she rose to play backup to me, pointing the medical scanner down at the ground as though it was a weapon. 

“Are you planning on explaining what you’re doing here,” I said, calculating the risk and holstering my own phaser regretfully, “as well as how a sneak attack on a shore leave planet could possibly be considered _honorable?”_

“Well, of course,” he said.  “How else am I to teach my heir how to treat prisoners of war?”  
  
The last thought that ran through my head before the disrupter blast knocked me out was _what the ever-living—_

* * *

 

The first thought that ran through my head when I woke up was _ow_ , followed very closely by the realization that Sarda’s hand was on my face.  That last one was pretty close on the WTF scale to Merete kissing me full on the lips in front of the entire Klingon delegation, and slightly behind Scanner quitting Starfleet and becoming a monastic Luddite with a vow of silence, but there it was. 

My eyes popped open into the blinding brilliance of a half-lit holding cell and squeezed instantly shut again without offering me much in the way of usable information.

The hand on my face shifted slightly, and the blinding headache was somehow nudged to a more ignorable part of my brain.

"Uhhhngggg," I said eloquently, blinking and squinting into the scant light.

Sarda pulled his hand away and a sense of presence I hadn't quite noticed slipped away with it. "I apologize for the intrusion," he said without meeting my squinting eyes. "It seemed best to wake you."

I groaned and pushed myself into a sitting position.  “S’alright.  Any time.  Really.  What’d I miss?”

“While you were on vacation,” said Scanner from over on my left, “the Klingons dumped us all in a holding cell, we were treated to a nonsensical monolog from Papa Bear that I’m not sure whether was meant for us or for Bring Your Daughter To Work Day, and then since they took the medkit along with everything else, Points here got elected to play prince charming to your sleeping beauty.”  I choked on nothing, but Scanner was cheerfully glancing at the others.  “Did I miss anything?”

Sarda made the smallest of glances at the ceiling, but all he said was “A reasonably concise summary.” I wondered whether he hadn’t known the reference, or whether he’d just long since given up on Scanner.

I groaned and rubbed my head.  “I want a refund on that vacation,” I muttered, and then, “First Merete and now Sarda, who else is next?”

Scanner did the most epic of double-takes.  “First Merete what now?”

I was saved from answering THAT one by the arrival of a newcomer.

“My father has told me a great deal about you.”

I started, probably visibly, and did my best to scramble to my feet—with the help of a hand I knew without looking was Sarda’s—and turned to face the Klingon on the other side of the faintly glowing force field.  “Yeah, but was any of it TRUE?”

She smiled at me, showing just a little bit of teeth, and I struggled to remember bits of my xenosociology classes about Klingons and teeth.

"Well," she said, "he did voice the opinion that you in particular had the courage of a Klingon and the tactical sense of a Denebian slime devil."

"Was I unconscious at the time?" I threw out, and her grin showed another few teeth.

"Besides," I said, stepping closer to the glowing blue barrier between us, "while I can't speak to your father's courage, since he sneak-attacked us on shore leave, I'm not exactly sure what cause he has to question my tactical ability when he referred to us as 'prisoners of war' when our peoples aren't even AT war!"

Her grin widened again and this time she licked her lips slightly, and I very abruptly realized which class in xenosoc I'd been forgetting. This wasn't aggressive teeth-showing. This was most definitely flirting.

I spent about three heartbeats processing that before deciding, hell, I could work with that.

I stepped closer, keeping my body language sort of undirectedly aggressive, and grinned to show one not especially pointy canine.  “You, on the other hand, I have no quarrel with…unless you want there to be.”

She looked pleased…maybe.   The rules of engagement were a little different than what I was used to, and that was including the time I’d dated a Tellerite.

“My name is Vakari, of the house of BaQan,” she said.

“Piper of Proxima Beta,” I said, leaving off my rank and affiliation.  I briefly considered using the ship that was still technically under my command, but realized almost immediately that ‘Piper of the USS Banana Republic’ didn’t have quite the right ring to it.

“Piper, hmm?” she said, testing out the p’s like she was planning on juggling them later.  “Piper the human.  So tell me, Piper the human, what were you doing here?”

“Here, on a Federation planet in Federation space, or here—” I glanced around. “—on what I can only assume is a Klingon battlecruiser on the wrong side of the neutral zone?”

“My father believes I should learn the arts of obtaining information,” she said.  “What information, he never did say.  So,” she said, stepping right up to the forcefield so that it crackled at her skin, “What information are you willing to give me?”

I tilted my head.  “According to regulations, all you get are name, rank, and serial number.” On the other hand, I had precisely zero relevant tactical information to risk, and had apparently landed a walk-on part in some sort of Klingon role-playing game.

“You’ve only told me one of those.”

I raised my eyebrows.  “Rank: lieutenant commander.  Serial number: 7821256-R.”

Vakari folded her arms and shifted her weight to one hip.  “That’s a start.”

Translation: ball’s in your court.  Not an especially useful move in interrogation, but that was clearly never the point here.

“Well, if you want info about our shore leave destination, I can tell you they make a mean soufflé.”

“Is that a weapon?"

  
“…..depends on who makes it,” I muttered to myself, and then, louder, “A food.  Its main ingredient, as far as I can tell, is air." 

She frowned.  “ _Air?”_

“Why?  Is bloodwine more your speed?  Because I’ll bet I could drink you under the table any day of the week.”

Her face went from momentary confusion right back to that sharp, vaguely predatory smile. "Oh, do you now? Well, that, at least, is something that can be fact-checked."

With a sharp nod, she turned sharply and left us. Sharply.

There was a momentary silence.

"....what just happened?" asked Scanner.

I looked off down the hallway. "I....think I just got a drinking date with a Klingon."

Scanner snorted. "Only you."

"Ok yes," I said, "but I think the real question here is whether or not I can actually drink her under the table.

I looked at Merete, who just gave me a look--one that simultaneously told me that that was a little too specific for me to expect her to know, and that I was definitely a fool for having made the boast.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered.

"Without enough data, the odds aren't worth calculating," said Sarda, even more dryly than usual, "but I think I can safely say that we certainly hope that you have this ability."

I stared blankly at him for about three seconds.  “…that’s your way of saying you think I’m doomed, isn’t it?”

“Or maybe he just wants to see if you’ll get drunk enough to dance again,” said Scanner.

“Scanner, I swear to god—” 

Exactly what I was going to swear to which deity was lost in the return of Vakari with a decanter of blood-red liquid and no glasses.

I stood up and looked back at my team.  The same question was burning in three pairs of eyes, but I shook my head slightly and they moved, more or less reluctantly, to the back of the cell.

With a half-smile that meant I’d won a point, Vakari let down the force field long enough to let me out and I joined her on the other side of the barrier.

* * *

 

 

Bloodwine was served warm. 

I took another swig and waited for the room to stop spinning.   “And that’s how I wound up technically in command of my own starship.”

Vakari grinned that toothy aggressive grin again.  “If I’d known you were such an _important_ member of the federation, things might have gone differently here…”

Was that a bad story to have told?  I was thinking that might have been a bad story to have told.

I swayed a little despite being seated, weighed the risk of sounding too important against the risk trying to be modest and being thought a coward, and elected to avoid the issue entirely.

“And you?” I said.  “Surely such a warrior as yourself is wasted looking for information that doesn’t exist on a planet that doesn’t care.”

Vakari took her own swig.  “My father is either a fool or has reasons for wanting to fail,” she said.

“Maybe he just wanted us to meet,” I said with a grin that was only about 30% alcohol.

Her eyebrows rose toward her brow ridges, and I only barely had enough self-control left to resist the urge to poke at them.  They looked so _bumpy_. 

“To meeting!” I said, raising my bottle, and took a bigger swig than had any right to be called a good idea. 

“To the valor of humans!”

“And of Klingons!” I raised my bottle again and met her eyes.  She grinned and ran the back of her thumbnail across the side of my chin.  I hadn’t quite realized how close she’d gotten.  But I _did_ , even this drunk, know an invitation when I saw one.

Her lips tasted like warm bloodwine, and mine, when I pulled back, tasted like actual blood.

I licked the bite on my lip and grinned.   “To meeting,” I said again, “whether as enemies, allies, or anything else.”

Vakari raised her own bottle.  “To many more meetings,” she said, “but later.  Come with me.”

I rose, sat heavily back on my stool, and rose again more successfully.  The universe swirled around me like the inside of a transwarp bubble at the effort, but I was determined, and set off firmly after the Klingon.  Actually, I stumbled after her with only the barest idea of staying upright, but it was the thought that counted.

When we got make to the holding cell, the others were already on their feet.  Vakari hit a button on the wall, and the forcefield quivered into nothingness.

I leaned heavily against the doorway in an effort to convince the world to stop spinning.  “What’reyawaitingfor?  Let’s go.”

“Your things,” said Vakari, though where she’d pulled our weapons and equipment from I hadn’t seen.

“You’re just…giving them back?” said Scanner, taking back his phaser with a look that was two parts disbelief and one part calculation.

“Shooting me in the back would be both dishonorable and incredibly foolish,” said Vakari, handing back Sarda’s tricorder and Merete’s medkit.  “Follow me.”

The halls of the ship were definitely more elastic than they had any right to be, and one of the bulkheads nearly walked right into be before I felt Merete slip her shoulder under mine. 

“How much of that stuff did you _have?”_ she murmured.

“….enough.”

“I hope you’re expecting a hangover.”

I would have answered, but changing directions to walk into the transporter room took all my available concentration. 

Vakari tapped at the transporter controls.  “I will put you back where you were,” she said, gesturing us toward the pads.  She looked up and I pulled away from Merete and swayed on my own.  “I hope we meet again, whether as friend or foe.” 

“Likewise,” I said, and managed to make it to the transporter pad without planting my face against the floor.

I almost didn’t feel the transporter beam through the haze of blood alcohol, but as soon as it released me on the planet’s surface, I sat down hard all the way on the ground.

“What the hell _happened_ up there?”

“….still not sure I actually _know_.”

Scanner made a gesture.  “What happened to your lip?”

I reached up and touched the blood on my face.  “Oh, that,” I said.  “Um…long story short, Klingons bite.”

There was a beat of silence.  “Hot damn,” said Scanner.  “What is this, Everyone Wants To Kiss Piper Day?”

I snorted with laughter.  “Why, you offering?”

Scanner made a noise of mock offence and pressed his hand against his chest.  “Who, me?” he said. “I’m a perfect gentleman.”  He made an elaborate bow, took my hand, and planted an airy kiss on it while tipping an invisible tophat.

That was it for me.  I doubled over in convulsions of chemically-assisted giggles and didn’t even try to stop.  I didn’t even stop when Merete stabbed me in the arm with a hypo.

“You’re definitely going to regret THIS stunt in the morning,” she said.

I was halfway to correcting her to ship’s time before I remembered that we were currently planetside, and sure enough, the local sun was just tilting backwards across the horizon. 

“We should perhaps return to our accommodations,” said Sarda.

“Ideally before that rain starts,” added Scanner, pointing at what turned out to be a set of rapidly darkening clouds above us, which started spitting out fat drops of water even before he finished.  “Or not.”

“Yes, let’s,” I said, struggling back to my unsteady feet with Merete’s help.

It was, apparently, going to be a dark and stormy night.

 


End file.
